Where's My Walker?

lol! No, no, I'm not one of those people will freak out because they turned 25. If you couldn't already tell I never really need a reason to freak out I just do cause I'm suave like that. I don't feel old or anything like that. I do kinda wish I had my degree already or maybe my own apartment, or maybe owned a car or even a plant ...but this just means I get to have more goals. GO ME! So yeah. Hrmmm updates, updates. The text message debacle has been cleared up... kinda. lol. I love how the older I get, the more high school drama my life becomes. I didn't date in high school or really experience any of the drama that usually takes places in that time frame until after I already graduated. So here I am, 25 and terrfied of admiting my feelings.

ANYWAY!

Yesterday I had to go to the courthouse to report for Jury Duty. Can I just say hangover + Jury Duty = BAD DECISION. Not as bad as flying with a hangover, but close. I will admit that as bad as flying with a hangover is, it helps me get over my fear of flying because whenever there's turbulance I kinda hope that we will crash to the ground so that the person that is letting their child run all over the fucking plane can EXPLODE IN A BALL OF CRIMSON GLORY. But thats just me. Also, crimson glory would be a wonderful name for the period.

If that made you squirmy you need to grow up.

BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! WOO WOO!
Also, since it's my birthday come join me at my magic picnic table!! WOO WOO

Thou Shalt Not Drunk While Text

Yeah. We’ve allllll done it. You’re drinking in a bar with your friends and you start thinking about someone and you get this urge to text that someone. Maybe you’re horny, maybe you miss a friend, maybe your being over analytical and should put the fucking phone down. But do you? No, no, no. You keep on texting them and digging a hole that will eventually lead to China.

I have thought up an idea that will make MILLIONS. Bars should buy dozens of little spider monkeys and train them to steal people’s phones if they start texting people. The monkeys would then deliver them to the bartender or a designated monkey person and you would have to explain who you’re texting and why and if it’s something that will lead you to flog yourself the next morning the person can just call you a cab and you pick up your phone the next day. Yeah so basically I want to hold someone else responsible. I take it back; this is a bad plan…

sigh

If you couldn’t already tell I took it upon myself to add drama and discord to my already convoluted life. My foot is so far in my mouth, it’s coming out my ass. UGH!!! So there is this dude I am… seeing (?) and because of that question mark I decided to say that I wanted to end it because I was beginning to like him too much. DUMB DUMB DUMB. First of all doing it in a text is BEYOND lame. Second, now he knows that I really like him and I am now vulnerable. Thirdly I should have just TALKED to him. I, of course, sent a text backtracking this morning and I even called myself out on the backtracking but… GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Holy shit, I just discovered a method of time traveling. It’s called alcohol and I mentally put myself back to high school. Gooooo me!

The logical voice in my head is sitting back with its arms crossed and shaking its head while the illogical voice is all “What?”

Well, one more blog and I reach my goal for the week… that’s good, right?

*crickets*

Meh. I know, it could be worse...

Anew

Uh… hi Blog! I apologize for neglecting you… once again… but come on; with my track record is that really such a surprise?

*sigh*

So life. It’s a crazy experience that I’m analyzing away which is beyond the realm of acceptable. So I have decided to make a goal and attempt to keep it, which for any of those that know me- STOP LAUGHING. I am going to write in here at LEAST three times a week. That allows four days to slack so that should be enough for my hebetudinous ass (yes, that is a word I recently discovered and am damn proud to use. GO VOCABULARY).

I’ve always fancied myself a composer of stories. Not so much a writer as my literary mechanics can make the sturdiest of English teachers recoil in disgust. Mainly because I almost NEVER proof my work before I hand it in or deem it done. This is a skill I am s-l-o-w-l-y acquiring. To say I am impatient wouldn’t be quite right, but close. I need to get my idea/thoughts out immediately otherwise it recedes back in to the chaos that is my subconscious which is beyond infuriating. When I re-read it I end up editing it into a completely different story/subject. The same happens when I am trying to speak so I interrupt or change the subject which can be just a wee bit irritating to those I engage in conversation. It is a trait I am trying to eradicate, I assure you. But due to my forced lack of filter (aka thinking before I speak) it makes things a bit more complex. As mentioned earlier, I over analyze EVERYTHING but the subject in which I am constantly scrutinizing is myself. This leads to completely illogical problems and insecurities. When I try and ponder what I want to add to a verbal soiree my brain promptly trucks it to Alabama and fucks a pig.

No, really.

Any interesting fact or tidbit I want to contribute is immediately slapped down and I begin to dry heave words and phrases that really, really should have never left my mouth. It gets far, far worse when I am around a person I find attractive. Be it male or female, if I admire them my verbal skills dwindle down to the point where I utter “I get bloody noses”. No lie. That’s one of the first things I said to my ex.

Charming, no?

So I usually to attempt to put my analytical butcher aside and just own my awkwardness. Yeah I talk to trees and hate the noise rubber duckies make because they sound sad to me. Yes, I know a little bit about a lot of things but I find it hard to retain any in-depth knowledge of a subject I have studied at length. Yes I will probably interrupt you but I promise I will recognize that I did and try my damnedest to only do it once. Yes, candy bars are an appropriate way to start the day. On that note, yes I will eventually join the YMCA and stop bitching about my flabby ass. But, anyway, back to the interrupting portion of this nonsensical post. I am striving to stop this because I want people to know that listen. I really do. I love hearing people talk about where they come from or experiences they’ve… experienced (shhh I’m too lazy to use a thesaurus right now). They’re stories and that’s what I live for. Everyone and everything has a story and I’d love to know them all. I can’t promise I will remember them but I’d still like to hear them.

So, yeah. Three times a week of my mental vomit and fanatical musings. I can TASTE your eagerness. Also, I want to put a picture up I’ve taken in at least one of the posts because damn it I’m becoming proud of my pictures. I don’t alter them in photoshop or gimp but that’s something I am interested in learning. Once I karate chop my ass to inspire some motivation. Oh how I loathe the sloth in me. But HA HA! I shall slowly back the laziness out my ear this year for I shall be quarter of a century old soon and I’d like to be able to at least say OMG I COMPLETED A GOAL, ISN’T THAT AWESOME!

So baby steps. POST NUMBER ONE, OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG. And here’s my pic:



I took this when I was in Santa Cruz। I love the colors and I love sunsets sooooooooo BADDA BOOM BADA BANG. There you have it.

Rant.

I think some indie bands are a sick twisted joke. The skinny malnourished boys croon about how lonely they are while eying the crowd for their next groupie. Then there’s always that naive girl that feels like the lyrics are talking to her, talking about her and she believes in fairy tales and happily ever after’s. She stumbles towards the stage, awe in her eyes with an open heart and the band’s eyes overlook her in search of the girls that act disinterested.

I just don’t get it. I have guy friends that also complain about how lonely they are, but when they get with a girl that actually shows interest, they freak out. WTF. You wanted someone…. you get someone and then you freak out. BUT, BUT if a girl act disinterested she’s a fucking goddess.

Explain!

Apparently, in this city, if you want someone, treat them like shit and they come panting back for more. How fucked in the head are people?

Humans are fucking WEIRD. Basically, as we grow up we're taught to be self reliant and all that shizzy yet there’s always that hint of “Oh you’ll find someone to spend your life with”. I just can’t deal anymore. It’s just bullshit. Who CARES if you find someone? Shouldn’t it be about your experiences in life seeing as how… it’s your life? I’m so tired of people bitching about how they’re lonely. I’m also tired of boys that build you up only to find that they just don’t have it in them to love.

Rad. Awesome. Then just tell me its sex and I’m good. Really. Why go on and on about how much you like a person and all that bullshit only to be emotionally unavailable? It’s such a waste of effort and time. If you’re just in to sex, awesome, I know where I stand.

No, this has not happened to me RECENTLY but it has happened to me. But a couple of dear friends have been jerked around enough to piss me off.

People can’t just be honest. I don’t get it. If you don’t like the person, FUCKING TELL THEM. If you do, then let them know.

But then again the boys that are usually jerks now became so due to a high maintenance cunt that cut off their balls and wore them in a jar around their skinny little neck. It turns into a vicious cycle of “I got fucked so I’m going to fuck someone over”. Yeah. Awesome logic.

It’s like cheating. If you don’t like the person that you’re with, break up with them. It’s that easy. Really. Just stop and think about it. If you’re tired of fucking the same person, let them know. It’s better then lying. I promise the pain of being dumped is so much easier to deal with then lies.

Ah rants. I’m just baffled at the lack of care people have while dealing with others. I’m also tired of the “lists”.

OH GOOD GOD THE LISTS!

“My perfect significant other is this tall, and this skinny, and has this color hair and blahity fucking blah”

Really? You’re really going to be that specific because all those physical requirements are that important. Really? You couldn’t love a girl that has blue eyes and blond hair? Really? Eye color is that important?

What about just TALKING to someone? Yes, I understand that there are certain physical attributes that a person may find attractive, but it is so hard to go outside of them?

*shakes fist*

I just don’t get it unfortunately. Perhaps I’ve become too jaded. Right now I view love as an experience I want nothing to do with. I hate being vulnerable. I hate it. I don’t know if I have it in me to open up like that. I’m not saying I’ll never fall in love again, that’s just silly. It’s just… while I help glue everyone’s heart back together mine becomes more hardened and reluctant to ever be seen without armor. I’ve seen so many battle wounds that I don’t remember what the reward was. Someone to cuddle with? Someone to laugh with? I can do that with my friends.

What was the point of loving again?

Murder and Chocolate Hearts

Um wow. Soooo. A lot has changed since that last post. Too much too really update but I can try and sum up.

1. I stopped living inside my head.

2. I stopped constantly fretting about what people thought of me.

3. I got married, had 50 kids and started a baby farm where a genetic cow fought it’s way past my security system to plant a stick of dynamite in my oven so the farm blew up and when it did I discovered oil and am now a bazillionire.

HA! Lies. Well just that last one. But I do admit that I super suck for once again not updating a blog. BUT my few and probably not real readers, I have been posting blogs some where else. Some where else called myspace.

Don’t judge me. People actually comment there. SO HA!

Anyway.

Now I have always scoffed at this day because it’s based on a horribly over-dramatized story of a martyred catholic priest and I never could find the connection between murder and chocolate hearts. Well, I take that back. If you take away my chocolate, you could find yourself in a hole someone where, obeying my command of putting some lotion in a basket due to a threat of a hose. BUT really, I know the holiday is a sham and turns couples into this overly mushy, obnoxious plague to be avoided at all cost and sends single people into a spiral of doom and running towards the nearest bar. But, for once, I do not belong in either of these categories. Yes, I have a Valentine.

Absorb what typed there please, because it’s taking me a while as well.

Me. Spastic Sally. Has. A. Valentine.

Now this is a new thing so I don’t know if we’re a “we” (ha! irony we’re a we…ok nevermind) in a relationship sense but we’re not horribly mushy and while I’m big on chocolate, I rather DECREASE the size of my ass so none shall be given. Flowers are pretty buy I’ve never been a big fan of killing things because I still carry the guilt of killing my little bamboo plant (shhhhhhhhh I know it’s hard to kill bamboo but not all of us are gifted with a green thumb sooo stfu!) so I’d rather not watch something else wither and die. I also love trees and refuse to contribute to something as absurd as a card when I can just send an e-card for free.

But this whole fellow thing is quite new to me. I wasn’t looking for anyone. Honestly. It wasn’t that I had given up, I just stopped caring. That is in bold because I swear on all the chocolate hearts in the world that the SECOND you stop caring you send of this vibe to the opposite sex (or same sex, whatever your flavor) and their heads perk up, their eyes zoom in on you and some even may begin to fondle their genitals.

Hey, I ‘m just being honest.

Anyway

Yeah. Life. A strange a peculiar journey I am beginning to love more and more. The twists and turns sometimes leave me spinning, but quite honestly, I love it. How can you enjoy the sweet with out the bitter? A good cry is awfully therapeutic and laughing until you wet yourself is always a good story to open with when meeting someone new.

Or that could just be me.

But I am happy. SO HA! DOUBLE HA! TRIPLE HA! I’ve never been in this situation. Sure I’ve dated before and been in a long-term relationshit but… I’ve never been with someone who was this thoughtful. I’ve actually poked him quite hard in the chest which prompted a baffled grunt and a raised eyebrow. I just smiled but I was secretly thinking

“You just can’t be real so if you’re a delusion I’d rather stay lost in my mind cause this rules.”

Who ever said romance was dead? But yeah, to all you bitter betty’s and mushy molly’s: I do hope that you have a good day and revel in our cultures ability to turn murder into romance. Just look at Romeo and Juliet. If you think that story is romantic I will bitchslap the SHIT out of you. If you need to ask why…

Please, please re-read it and THINK about it. Well, this certainly isn’t my favorite post but hell, it’s something. If you want to read one about my boobs vs a book read my myspace one. It may make you laugh.

That is all. Carry on!